


By a Spider Thread

by Tribs



Series: WG Pict Series - No Longer in Progress [2]
Category: Runescape (Video Games)
Genre: Adult Language, Adult Themes, Alcohol, Canon Divergence, Corpse Looting, Dead Khazard/Gnome Troops, Demiplane Interconnection HCs, Destruction of Crandor, Drudging up the 2009 Halloween Event for Lore, F/F, Gen, Ghosts, Giant Spiders, Half-Planned Shadow Realm Imprisonment, Polypore HRT ?, Sliske Pesters Wahis (Again; Always), Smoking, Solicitation, Swearing, Trans Male Character, Visiting the Underworld, Wahis Calls Out Sliske (Again; Always)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-27 07:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 9,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18191810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tribs/pseuds/Tribs
Summary: Resuming where Attic Light leaves off, Jo and Pict catch up on their years apart.





	1. Pict

Year 126 5E (19 years old)

* * *

 

My head throbbed as I came to, my mouth and throat rotting with a foul-tasting hangover.  

I took a slow catalogue as I nudged myself awake - pants still on, ass missing  _ that _ kind of ache, no good endorphin rush - then stood up and stretched with a whine. I’d crashed somewhere in the attic, a pile of dust and box contents passing for my bed during the night.

_ Bullshit wet dream. _

I dusted off some crushed chalk that had powdered my ass, and buttoned up my shirt. 

_ Must’ve had too much to drink. _

A shout echoed somewhere outside, distant. 

_ Throat hurts. _

I ran my fingers around it, and winced at the sting of blossoming bruises. 

_ Maybe not entirely a dream. _

Something else from last night crept into my hazy recollection, and an uncomfortable urgency hit the fog like a fan.

_ Jo. _

 

* * *

 

“Jo?”

She was crumpled on the floor, breath ragged, when I found her. I crouched low and eyed the smoldering remnants of a match still clutched in her hand. I tried to pat her shoulder, to get her attention, to smother the knot cinching up in my chest.

_ I missed? _

With a squint first at my hand and then at her, I pulled my hand back.

“Hey, Jo?”

Nothing.

I tried again, and this time there was no room to blame bad lighting or bad aim.

My hand passed through her, from her shoulder right to the floor, an uncomfortable chill on my skin the only evidence that I’d tried at all.

I shot back up, backing away from her as the last of my nerve stripped itself dry.

_ “JO?” _

I turned, knotted my hands in my hair, turned, turned again.

_ Leave and find- No, can’t leave her alone. Call for help? Shout for help? _

“HEY!”

_ C’mon. _

“HEY, GAV?”

_ Shout back, I know you’re down there. _

_ “GAV!” _

_ Please please PLEASE- _

_ “MAM? IKENNA?” _

I yelled, exhausting my reservoir of names until I’d cried myself hoarse.

Something in the back of my head knew they wouldn’t hear me. Couldn’t.

But when the hatch opened, and a familiar deep voice said,  “Josephina?”, hope sparked in my chest.

I leapt up with a sob, rushing to the edge of the stairs as her father pushed his way through. I tried to hug him, tried to reassure myself -

_ “She won’t get up and she’s just been fucking LAYING there and I can’t touch her and you have to help me get her down I think she’s hurt-” _

\- but just phased through, and nearly sent myself tumbling down into the hall. He didn’t act like he noticed me, just called to the group below.

“Aye, I found ‘er, she’s up this way!”

Staff and guards from the manor clambered up after him as he moved towards where Jo lay, each person that stepped through me spiking my skin with ice. My head fuzzed over, a bad kind of white noise settling in around my ears as I watched them huddle around her.

“She’s broke a lung ‘r three, help me get ‘er up.”

_ “Ikenna?” _

“Hup!”

_ “Hey? Governor?” _

“Steady now!”

_ “Guys?” _


	2. Pict

One by one, they made their way back down the stairs.

I didn’t follow them. Just sat, waited, watched as they bundled Jo out of sight. She’d already started to stir at the sound of their voices, coughing and trying to choke out words in a way I hadn’t been able to get her to.

They had left the hatch open, and I turned my hand where the light pooled against the shadows, watching as brittle translucence played across my skin.

Fragments of the demon’s voice drifted through my head, and I tried to latch on to what pieces I could.

_‘What am I going to do with you, pet?’_

_‘Soft hair.’_

_Then the ‘Wait here for a moment,’ before she-_

_He’s coming back._

The realization jarred me back to my feet. The urge to get my back blown out - assuming that _was_ what he wanted - still rubbed behind my ears, but the crack of the stool meant more to me.

I got back to my feet and crept downstairs, then stopped at the crowd hovering around my room. I slid between them, peeking through intangible bodies, until I saw that they’d tucked Jo into my bed. Ikenna hovered near her side, tapping his fingers against the headboard as he fretted, watching one of the healers work their way around her chest.

_Alright._

Uneasy, but reassured that she was at least being cared for, I went back to the hallway.

I checked Gav’s room next. She seemed shaken, but unharmed, and three of the entourage were talking over each other while explaining the search going on.

“- your mother’s still out, looking for El -”

I tried to catch her eye.

The response I got - namely, none - was what I’d already half-resigned myself to, and I stepped back into the hall.

I ducked into Vio’s room next. The locked door posed about as much resistance as the crowd had when I focused on pressing through it, but I didn’t feel steady enough to question why. Her ass wasn’t back yet either, but I got to confirm that the room was, in fact, much more dull and stiff-assed than Jo and I had delighted in conspiring about.

I made a note to tell Jo later, and shoved back the voice of worry that told me I might not ever get to.

The downstairs shop was dark, and empty compared to the rest of the building. I cut through the bookshelves and found my way to the front window. I caught sight of a pair of lanterns off down the road, haunting door to door like a pair of church proselytizers.

_Mam and Vio._

I watched them go as a new worry crept in. I’d gotten downstairs, sure, and could easily sneak off to any damn place I wanted.

So long as it was on Crandor.

Crandor wasn’t that big of an island.

_Could nestle in with damn Elvarg, I guess, if none of the magic fuckers here can help. Might be able to sneak off on one of the boats. There’s more wizards and shit on Karamja, maybe the mainland. Must be at least one that can fix my ass._

_Shit._

I scratched the side of my chin, frowning at my dim reflection. Something behind me rustled, like a draftless breeze disturbing the books. I braced myself, barely daring to breathe, eyes flickering across the shelves.

A form darted along the wall, obscured in shadow. It didn’t seem like who I was trying to lead off, definitely wasn’t tall enough, but that didn’t make this damn one safer. I swallowed hard and spoke up.

“Hello?”

It stayed silent, but beady eyes regarded me. I crept closer.

“Scuzați-mă?”

It clicked back. I tried to think back to if Jo and I had ever read anything about demons that clicked.

Nothing came to mind.

“Do you know what I’m saying?”

_Clickclick._

“Am I dead? One yes, two no.”

It darted -  “HEY!” - and I lunged for it, demanding the answers I felt like it had. My fingers grazed its back leg - thin, spindly, finely barbed - and then it was gone. I pushed myself onto my hands and knees, feeling along the wall for where the damn shadow bastard had weaselled away to.

“GET BACK HERE!”

A crack met my fingers first, then widened into a larger hole that I knew didn’t belong. Mam wouldn’t have stood for it, we’d have all had to help cover it before now. I stuck my head through, squinting, and followed through with my shoulders.

I put my hands down on the other side, feeling for the floor as I squeezed through fully.

My stomach lurched as I realized, too late, that there was no such bottom.

 

* * *

 

I tumbled for too damn long.

Long enough to get irritated at it, once I’d run out of drive to scream.

I bumped against walls that gave away to rocks that snagged on my dinner coat, before spinning out into a free-fall.

_Vio’d have a fucking fit if she knew this shit was under the house._

_Assuming it’s under the house and not some damn part of Infern-  “GACK”_

My neck whipped back as I hit the bottom, with no time to collect myself before being flung right back into the air. I landed, got rattled again, then fell through -   _“FUCKERS”_  - to an even lower tier of netting - _“OOF”_ \- where I finally bounced to an uneasy stop.

It was sticky, and lingered on my clothes as I drug myself to my feet. I’d lost a shoe somewhere, made very apparent by the hellish cling to my sock. I shook myself off and sputtered at the threads that had found their way into my mouth.

_Like getting caught in those damn spider webs in the attic._

I stopped, staring out into the darkness, and again heard the pattering of thin feet.

_Oh._

I clicked my fingers, one of Nnenna’s light cantrips sparking above them and illuminating out around me. Beady eyes attached to too many too-large spiders glinted then vanished as they scattered out of the radius.

_Not on Crandor now, at least._

_…_

_Vio’d have a fucking fit._


	3. Jo

Year 126 5E (19 years old)

* * *

 

_Four days._

My head still swam. My ribs didn’t hurt now, but my chest still ached, like everything inside had been carved out with a coring knife.

_‘Presumed dead.’_

I shouldered the pack I’d made. It had enough to get me by for a little while, and I figured I’d know what to do by the time it all ran out. Brought a knife along, if all else failed.

_Drug the fuck off down to some hell or ‘nother._

I re-folded the note I’d made for dad, then tucked it up with my pillow.

_Could’ve clobbered the fucker faster. Should’ve._

_Or focused on gettin’ him out some other way._

The curtain cloak he always wore for our ‘ceremonies’ fit me better than it ever had him, and I felt a fresh kick to my heart as it settled down around my shoulders.

_Fucked up._

I pushed the window up, and spent a minute watching the storm clouds roll towards the island. The docks would be busy with prep, and with all the back-ways we’d puzzled out over the years, it wouldn’t be hard to sneak through.

_Still need to go ‘fore it starts._

I wiped my eyes, then pulled myself through the frame.

_Bye, dad._


	4. Wahisietel

Year 127 5E

* * *

 

I nudged my door open and pushed inside. I’d spent longer in town than I would’ve liked - catching the attention of an old friend did that to a person - but being unrestrained by the need for sleep softened the inconvenience.

I set my bags down by the door and closed it back, double-checked the lock, then rubbed a hand across my face.

I tried to recollect what exactly it was I was supposed to be doing tonight - what _Ali_ was supposed to be doing - and came up considerably short beyond some vague feeling of disinterest.

_Ah well. It’ll come to me._

The cabinet by my desk was much more inviting, and after a half a second, I obliged it.

_Quick drink, short book. Then I’ll do whatever-it-was. There’s time._

_Always time._

Several bottles presented me with options, but one in particular stood out.

The bottle of arak, dubiously homemade and a bit _too_ artfully labelled, was the product of one of Nkuku’s endless, fleeting hobbies.

I took it, watched as flakes of colored paper fluttered to the floor, and debated on dumping it out.

I poured it into a glass instead, then added what the label said was a suitable water dilution. I took a sip, blinked at what tasted like a mouthful of licorice and fennel, and put the glass down on the table.

Then picked it up again and took a second sip.

A third solidified the fact that it satisfied some masochistic urge of the palate, and I made a mental note to - possibly - thank Nkuku the next time he careened into my life like a drenched cat.

The choice of a book was an easier one. I only had a handful of chapters left in my current read and, as any well-respected person knew, nothing paired with bootlegged alcohol quite like the self-penned accounts of a noble convicted for alchemical fraud did.

I took a moment to dryly reflect on the dullness of my existence, and then another to more sincerely appreciate the fact that nothing major had crumbled down around me in the last six months.

I made a quiet bid that it would keep up until the Inevitable Problem approached.

_Forty or so years?_

_At least a fraction of that. Please._

It was getting close enough that I’d have to worry over it soon, but for now I could push it out with a huff and another cloying swig.

_Right now is going to be relaxing, lurking issues bedamned._

I moved into my room and found my pipe box, struck up a match, and used it to light the lantern that sat on my end table.

Then turned and found Sliske hunched over on the floor, rifling through one of my file boxes. He looked back over his shoulder at me, raised a hand in greeting like this was a perfectly normal thing to be doing, then went back to his search.

I went ahead and flipped my mental _‘something crumbling down around me’_ counter back to zero days, rubbed my face, then sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Sliske.”

“Yes?”

“Care to say what you’re looking for?”

“One of your hobbyist cosmology maps. Nothing expansive, don’t bother yourself fretting. Just the local branches.”

 _Oh, right, of course. Sure._  “Don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why?”

“It’s hardly like you’re using them! Unless you’re off galavanting around without telling me.”

“Like you do? Often?”

I cringed as he opened a folder and shook out the contents, sorted through them, then crammed them back in without any sort of order.

“You spurn all my invitations!”

“For good reasons.”

“Are they now?”  he scoffed. “I get the feeling you’d reject this one outright, even if there _was_ some temptation over the rest in that head of yours.”

“Oh?”

“Extensive travel, quite far from this little niche you’ve sequestered yourself off to.”  He rose back to his feet, tucking a folded scrap of paper into his arm guard before smoothing out his robe.  “Tedious, but it can’t be avoided. Unless you’d enjoy the tedium?”

“Nonsense.”  I tucked my book under a fold in the blanket behind me.  “Are you shopping for new parts to splice onto that wretched contraption you try to pass off as a man?”

He barked a laugh, and I put aside the fact that I’d just planted another terrible idea in his head, surely to come back to bite me later.

By rattling my windows, or eating my neighbors.

“Hardly! He’s cluttered enough. I don’t think there’s room to tack on any more, even if I _did_ want to. No, this is a different project.”

_I’d say ‘you could fill a book with projects,’ but you already do. Too many of them._

“I am absolutely dying -”   _for you to leave,_  “- to hear about it, just as I assume you are to tell me.”

He rolled what was left of his eyes, but the way his taut face muscles pulled into a grin told me that he had been suppressing it. He sat down next to me with a flourish, crossing an ankle over his knee and resting his chin on his knuckles.

“So. You do recall _the name.”_

 _The one you latched on to and worked into plays like some creative fanatic? That you ‘found’ in the flesh several times over before realizing you were wrong? That you work yourself into self-picking fits over on bad days?_  

“Vaguely.”

“Oh, of course you do, don’t be like that. Side hobby he may have been, a fun side character to conjure in my mind’s eye, trifling in comparison to any other handful of my orchestrations, I do believe I’ve gotten as close as I ever have to finding a real manifestation.”

 _‘Side hobby’ we’re calling that obsession, are we?_  “Really now.”

“Perhaps a year or so ago, yes.”

“I suppose that’s why it’s been so blissfully quiet here.”

He scowled.  “You’ve missed me. Don’t pretend that you haven’t.”

 _A little._  “Not particularly.”

“Bah.”  He uncrossed his legs, then folded them the other way.  “As I was saying. I’d only set him aside for a short while, and he managed to just _slip out_ between my fingers while I wasn’t looking.”

“You’re saying you found, and now have lost him.”

“Correct.”

I gestured to his arm guard.  “And you think he’s somehow managed to leave Gielinor.”

“Well he’s certainly not where _I_ left him. I’ve combed through the shadow-”

I held up a hand to stop him.  “You left someone in the shadow realm.”

“Excellent inference skills.”

“Alone. Presumably against his will.”

“He seemed amicable to being taken.”

“Then, what, you told him to ‘just stay there a moment’?”

“I included the word ‘pet,’ but in hindsight that might have been a bit forward. He might have also been unconscious.”

 _Sliske._  I ran my fingers through Ali’s hair, a life of stress - a life of dealing with _this_ \- tugging strands loose with them.   _Was easier when there were two of us to wrangle you._

“Why are you like this?”

“But I’m certain that he’s alright,”  he continued, unbothered. “Must’ve slipped through a crack to some other connecting place, and I’ve the time to look for him. Always time. Besides, a young man with no accomplishments hardly makes a suitable collectable, and he looked a great deal younger than I’d predicted. I’ve no intention of being hasty.”

That warranted another long sip.

“You still stick your hands into whatever it is you’re craving, without checking to see if it’s even ready yet. You’ll get salmonella like that.”

“Oh, quit your doctorish prattling,”  he scoffed. “I get more than enough of that from my _‘wretched thing that I try to pass off as a man.’_ Terrible inconvenience this may be, I am content with just keeping tabs on him once I find him again. I see nothing wrong with orchestrating a long game.”

“... No, I’ve seen you and ‘terrible inconveniences.’”

“Hm?”

“You’re relieved about this development.”

He stood, his tone shifting.  “I didn’t ask for your analysis.”

“I didn’t ask for you to break in and help yourself to my records, but here we are.”

 _“You_ are a terrible inconvenience.”

“Perhaps. I’m just saying what you already know.”

“And you should stop it.”

“For all the buildup, you didn’t know what to do with him once you found him.”

“Absurd.”

“If you had, you wouldn’t have orchestrated some scenario allowing him to leave.”

His hands tightened into fists; I kept on, rolling the glass between my fingers.

“So, your chase of a fictional person made real prolongs. You’re terrified of the distractions you make for yourself running out. That once you unwind all your own self-created puzzles and knots you won’t have anything else keeping you afloat.”

He’d already left, collapsing into a dark singularity that dispersed in the lantern light.

I raised my glass to where he’d been standing in a half-hearted salute, then settled back with my book.

_Mah keep you, Sliske._


	5. Pict

Year 127 5E (20 years old)

* * *

 

I crept along the threads, careful to keep my feet light. They felt the vibrations with their damn spindly-ass legs - I’d seen evidence enough of that to know it for sure - and I’d had to learn to move along with the sway. 

I clutched my jacket like it was a sack, filled with egg sack casing and writhing grubs. They were bland, entirely unappetizing, and ultimately not filling, but I was caught between either stealing these or figuring out how to kill and eat one of the guards.

_ At least some of the damn wall growths pass for spice. _

_ Would trade that for them being fucking smokable. _

I was painfully aware of how long I’d been without a fix. The pack I’d had in my pocket when I’d fallen had been exhausted to its limits. Trying to lick what traces I could out of the box wasn’t cutting it anymore, and the few people I’d met down here hadn’t been interested in talking about cigarettes, much less trading them. For grubs, or for ass.

I pushed the line of thought aside.

_ Not right now, not this far down. _

The higher floors had safe hideaways, clear ledges of rock, subterranean growths, and petrified trees as thick as buildings. The other poor bastards stuck down here were company, even if the difficulty and danger in finding each other made encounters few and far between.

The lower levels lacked all of those pros. 

Past a certain point, everything was covered by spider webs, only interrupted by support columns that were slathered in more of the same. Any significant misstep would ripple out across here and the floors below, and draw spiders in like I was a lighthouse beacon. 

_ Bullshit. _

I plucked a grub out of my coat, crushed its head under my thumb, and bit into its torso.

_ Can try a higher climb once I’ve got enough of these fucking things stored up.  _

I spat a chunk of carapace out at the base of a nearby pillar, and wiped my tongue off on the back of my hand before leaning against it. A strange lump dug into my shoulder, but I didn’t think much about it until I finished my meal and turned to investigate. 

Running the flat of my hand across found strange bumps and ridges, soft and flaking beneath the silk. My eyes recognized a pattern, something familiar, and in horror I realized that a face, half mummified, was leering back.

I jerked away with an inhale, screwing my eyes shut until the wave of nausea passed and my head stopped spinning, before looking back.

_ So that’s the smell. _

The more I searched, the more I found. They were like fresh catches, mostly gnomes, dressed in blue and green uniforms. A single human lay trapped with the group, her armor gray and emblazoned with a grotesque skull. 

_ Gem painted on it. Wrong color, though. _

I couldn’t tell if any were still breathing, but something told me that, by now, they were either dead or mostly there. 

A fresh wave of revulsion turned me away. A different urge stopped me, and drug me back.

There was a smell below that of the rotting flesh; the lingering trace of tobacco.

I tightened the tie that kept my coat closed and set it to rest against the column’s base, then steeled my hand and worked it into the spun cocoon. 

_ I need them now more than you do, gnome. _

My fingertips brushed against cloth.

Pants.

A pocket.

A rectangular shape, metal, tucked away inside.

_ Cigarettes. _


	6. Sliske

Year 127 5E

* * *

 

“He stood about this tall, last I saw him? Absolutely stunning hair.”

_Clickclick._

“Sounds rather like he’s five seconds from whining when he talks? Comes off a touch strong on his ‘t’s and ‘d’s and ‘r’s, struggles with the ‘h’ in ‘th’ and ‘sh’. That sort of thing.”

_Clickclick click._

“I have yet to ever hear him speak in trochaic octameter. But, if he were to, it would be something a bit like that, yes.”

_Click. Clickclick._

_“I_ certainly didn’t leave him here. I’m just placing feelers out. Tasting the air, if you will. I’m not even certain he wound up nearby at all, but, I _do_ have an expansive reward lined up for you. If you're the one to find him.”

_Click._

“Shall I leave you my forwarding address?”


	7. Jo

Year 129 5E (22 years old)

* * *

 

I sat alone in the room I’d been shown to.

The sounds and smells of Varrock filtered in through cracks in the wall slats. The eclectic nature, the hazy sunlight, and the dust in the air all reminded me of something too close to home.

I tamped the thoughts of the attic back to where I’d locked them, and stared across the table to the door.

It had been an hour or so, and the ‘deputy’ they’d been setting me up with still hadn’t shown. I tapped my index fingers on the crate on the table, then thought better of it.

_ Karamja rum. Cheaper’n explosives, twice as volatile. _

_ Better damn well hurry yerself up with the pay. _

Twenty more minutes. Thirty.

The door finally swung open under the deputy’s hand, and I nearly choked on my own spit at the sight of her. Long silver hair, like she’d gone grey early, pulled back tight into a wire bun. Arms that could crack my whole face like a melon. Green eyes that I’d like to skinnydip laps in until she stuck me down and drowned me.

She drew close and stuck out a hand in greeting. It took me a year to register that I should stand and offer my own.

“Lady Katrine.”  

_ ‘Rak herself. _

“I- Ma- Ye-  _ Ma’am. _ Aye. Jo. Aye.” 

_ Fuck. _

“First time running alone, isn’t it?”

“‘T is.”

“So long as you’ve got we agreed on, there’s no reason to be nervous.”

_ Lords that ain’t why my shit’s in a knot, but sure. _  “Aye.”

I pushed the box across the table, fumbling to undo the latch on the lid as I kept an eye half trained on her.

_ Make me eat that armband. _

Her fingers took over, pulling up the lid, and my brain spun off wildly in a new direction.

_ Hoooboy. _

“Where’s the rest of it?”

_ Let’s go’n drink each other under six different tables- _  “What?”

“I asked you where the rest of it is.”

_ Shit. _  “Should all be packed in, aye?”

“It  _ isn’t.” _

“Oh.”

“Where’s the other half?”

“It should’ve been-”

She drew the kris strapped to her side, and with a gesture the bolt outside the door slammed into place.

_ Shit. _

My own dagger was in my hand and I snatched up the chair I’d been sitting in, holding it by the back frame like an awkwardly shaped shield. 

“We had an agreement.”

“Aye I’ll say ye damn well did!”

“Reckon your boss will keep a better eye on their transactions if I mail you back to them in pieces?”

_ That line’s got no business bein’ seductive. _

“Reckon it might work better if ye send me on home with a note an’ breath in the lungs to tell ‘em personal.”

“Would save that good face of yours, sure, but I’m still not partial to that choice.”

_ Oh? _  I made eyebrows at her.

She just watched me.

I sunk into a lower stance.

She lunged.

 

* * *

 

We hit the floor, hard. Her dagger stung cold just below my ear, slicing clear through and grazing my neck before plunging into the floorboards.

The air was thick with sweat. Her hair had come loose to plaster both of our faces, our noses pressed dangerously close together. The chair lay discarded off in the corner, and we’d knocked at least one table on its side. 

The longer we lay there panting, the more I became acutely aware of the fact that she was, in fact, on top of me.

Knife dangerously close to my neck, sure, but… 

_ Hells with it. _

I tried angling my head, slow.

She watched me, cautious, then slipped hers the other way, her hand creeping down. 

I felt her heart beating like a hammer against my chest, louder as she shifted, breath quickening and hot against my lips as we touched.

And we  _ did  _ touch.

Then she sat up, legs straddling my waist. I rose up on my elbows and bit my tongue as I watched her. She stared me down like she was offering me a challenge.

I bit, and rocked my hips once. 

She grinned, rocked once just the same, then gathered her face back and twisted towards the door.  “Hey!”

The voice that came from the other side was wary.  “Are you done? Should we get the mop?”

“Nah. She’s in one piece. Gonna let her out.”

“Boss?”

“Let her out,”  she repeated. “We’re sending her back with a note.”

“A… Alright?”

She turned back to me, tracing her finger along the cut below my ear; a quick swipe of her tongue left the tip clean again.

“She’ll be coming back with the rest of our shipment. With interest.”

_ Gonna be callin’ that my engagement scar, yes I am.   _ “Bet yer ass.”

She rocked again, then stood and grabbed my arm, pulling me up.

“Yours, more like.”

“We’ll be seein’.”

“Yes, we will.”


	8. Pict

Year 129 5E (22 years old)

* * *

 

They screamed like bloodhounds on a scent, feet skittering close behind as I darted across the webs. I jumped, misfired the spell under my heels, and lost ground. The second try was kinder, propelled me higher, and my feet struck a column; I ran two steps up, pivoted, and kicked back off. My hands snagged a web above and clung to it, swinging back, listening as the spiders scattered to cover more ground for me.

I took a second to collect myself, adjusting the silk I’d slung around my back like a pack, then started climbing to the floor above. I hauled myself through a gap at the top and took off towards the outcropping I’d come down by, hopping up the footholds I’d marked on the way. 

Going back was always easier than coming down, and soon I was pulling myself onto the rock floor of the bivouac I’d been holed up in. 

_ ‘Raksake, they’re too damn attentive now. _

I settled into a sitting position and tugged the bag off my back, pulling the cord loop loose and opening the top. My fingers found their way past the grubs inside - food for the next expedition, as spicy as I could make them - until I scraped the bottom, where the pebble-like runes had settled. 

Cigarettes weren’t the only thing I’d learned to scavenge from the less fortunate. I had a few water runes now, which made finding trickling streams along the cavern walls less of a priority. Fire didn’t work on the webs - probably for the best - but sudden light occasionally stunned the spiders, and I could keep myself warm.

Air runes, though.

Air runes meant mobility.

I hadn’t appreciated them much when Nnenna had been teaching me, but I’d be damned if I wasn’t close to shoving a handful up my ass in gratitude now.

_ They’d probably feel alright. Broken off spider legs are shit for sensation anyways. _

I stood when I was sure I still had enough, plucking out a stale gnome cracker and slotting it between my teeth before slinging the pack back on. 

Severed grub heads marked the directions I’d already traveled. I pulled another from my pocket, dropped it in a clear spot, and started out.

 

* * *

 

My arms gave out by the time I hauled myself onto a high enough outcropping, collapsing and rolling onto my back.

_ Dumbass ye are. Won’t go gettin’ out n’ findin’ me once those arms snap. _

I didn’t have the energy to argue with the figment of Jo I clung to. 

_ I know. _

_ Then don’t go testin’ them to some bullshit limit. _

_ I won’t. _

_ Got shit to do ‘fore you keel over outta some kinda organ failure. _

_ We do. _

I moved my arms off of my face and cracked my eyes open, locking the fake conversation in my chest so I wouldn’t lose it. The last few stops hadn’t shown me anything promising, and I was getting ready to mark this path off. With a slow exhale, I let my head sag to the side.

A rat stared back from several feet away. 

At least, I thought it might be some kind of rat. It stood on its hind legs, its front two small and useless like a jadinko’s. Exposed bone, grotesque flesh, and mushrooms spores covered its back, head, and tail.

Claws scrabbled across the stone as it fled. I pushed back to my feet with a grunt and nabbed a grub from my pack, popping its head off and stuffing it into my mouth.

_ Following weird shit got me in here.  _

_ Might as well be what gets me out. _


	9. Jo

Year 130 5E (23 years old)

* * *

 

Junk sails. Sleek design. Looked like it could turn on a dime.

I downed a third beer, and slapped the back of the sea orphan - all the half of a shark, loyal as a smuggler could get - that walked down the boardwalk with me.

“Adrian.”

“Aye?”

I uncapped a fourth bottle from the bag between us and gestured towards the boat at the end.

“Crandor-made right ‘ere.”

“Is she?”

“Aye. Not ‘s big ‘r fancy as the ol’ man’s, but she is.”

“What’s that sign ‘ere front of it? Reckon it’s a sale?”

I squinted, trotting a few steps closer before doubling back with confirmation.  “Aye, lookin’ like a sale. Couple digits.”

He winked at me.  “Thinkin’ o’ branchin’ out our business ventures?”

“Would save a helluva good time chunk, movin’ shit ourselves ‘nstead of bein’ middlemen.”

“Aye, would that.”

“Sylvester still got our purse on ‘im?”

“He do, bet that’s gettin’ spent on ruffle-shirts ‘n other shit. Should I go’n fetch it, while yer off trackin’ down the owner?”

“Aye.”  I waved the bottle in a  _ shoo _ gesture.  “Go find yer crocodile-tears sugar daddy.”

He patted his own ass with a wink.  “Take yer time, cap’n.”

“Bah!”


	10. Pict

Year 131 5E (24 years old)

* * *

 

It wasn’t safe to stay in the Polypore cavern for any stretch of time - Skinweaver had told me that much, after I’d used air to toss her down a floor out of panic, and we made up about the whole ‘trespassing in the dungeon’ thing - but that didn’t mean that I kept away. 

I could have a conversation and a smoke without having to worry about some spindly fucker sneaking up, and my damn sanity craved that. 

“It doesn’t work if you just stand in it.”

I scuffed at the mushrooms making up the fairy ring; she’d said they’d been part of some ‘travel system,’ how she got here, but they never did shit for me.

“Can’t you just fucking carry me through?”

“It doesn’t work like that, either.”

“Bullshit. People go missing to them all the time.”

“Preposterous. In your human folklore, maybe, but the faerie are staunch about security. Excuses on your part to avoid talking about the members of society who run.”

“Hmph.”

I stepped out of the ring and slid onto one of the tree-like plant stalks, taking another long drag of stale cigarette. 

She reclined sideways in her own spot, a collection of mushroom stalks and vines wrapped into a vague throne shape. One of the little ganodermic rats perched on her head and gnawed at a horn, teeth clicking like a metronome. Her fingers wove strands of silk that I’d kneaded soft and brought in trade, though what she was making with all the shit she requested I still didn’t know.

Didn’t really care, for what I got out of it.

“Your voice is getting deeper.”

I blew out a string of smoke.  “Hm?”

She waved it off, then pointed at her throat.  “Your pitch is lower.”

“Taken it fucking long enough. Been eating these piss-tasting spores of yours for weeks.”

“Your bodily forms do not fluctuate as mantles, molded by experience and whim. Requiring a catalyst for hormonal changes is remarkably inconvenient of your organs.”

“Months.”

“You’re lucky to have such a crude replication of your sort’s process take to you at all.” 

“Where’s my damn beard?”

“Patience.”

“I want a damn beard.”

“So you say, every time.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Maybe I should take some of the hair from your head and sew it to your chin.”

_ “Niciodată!” _

“Then eat your spores, little man, and count your blessings.”


	11. Jo

Year 134 5E (27 years old)

* * *

 

The storm screamed around us as we hurled through the narrow, deadly channels to Crandor. Lozar’s warning beacon still rang in my ears - same as it probably did anyone else that had been in sailing distance - and it was far from comforting.

_ Elvarg. _

“Cap’n, are ye sure this’s the right way?”  a voice cried over the wind, nearly lost as a wave crashed across our deck.

“Keep’r straight or I’ll cut out yer teeth one by one!”

“Aye!”

_ Dad. Pict’s family, too. _

A terrible, screeching cry echoed through the fog; whether it was thunder or the dragon, I couldn’t tell.

_ Don’t, Rak. _

“Cap’n!”

_ “What?” _

“Bow!”

I snapped my head towards the front of the ship, and fear gripped my throat when I caught sight of the shadow barreling towards us.

_ She can’t be flyin’. Can’t be flyin’, she’s got wings cropped like a damn parade bird. Fucking bastards, Pict, all your damn ancestors- _

The shape hit me.   _ Sails. Sails, ship. _

The watchman realized it the same time I did.  “ONCOMING! VEER!”

_ Familiar ship. _

A figurehead crested through the spray, and a rush of emotion surged my chest.

_ Governor’s ship. Dad’s ship. DAD’S SHIP. _

“DAD!” 

“JO?”

_ “DAD!” _

_ “JO!” _  His voice filtered through the roll of thunder, distant and distorted, as his ship barreled past us. I leaned across the railing, desperately straining to hear him.  “- REMINGTON!”

“REMINGTON!”

“MEET YE-!”

“MEET YE THERE, AYE!”

Something hit the underside of the hull, scraping along our length, threatening to roll us as we passed. 

_ The rocks. _

“RUNNIN’ US AGROUND - BACK STRAIGHT!”

_ Just the rocks. _

“AYE!”

_ She can’t swim. _

_ Dragons can’t swim. _

 

* * *

 

Half stayed behind, arming the cannons and keeping watch along the coast. The rest of us tied cloths to our faces and dove over the railing. The masks suctioned to our noses and mouths as we surfaced, cheap guards against the smoke and fire of the city.

“ADRIAN!”

“AYE!”

“SPLIT UP LEFT. GOING RIGHT. YOU LOT, WITH HIM - REST WITH ME.”

We divided, weapons readied, and charged into the ruins.

I knew where I was headed, but didn’t risk passing up the houses between me and there.

“SURVIVORS!”

“SURVIVORS, TO THE DOCKS!”

“SURVIVORS!” 

I hammered on doors, shouldering through where I could, trying to suss out anyone left alive. I found two, one trapped underneath a fallen beam and the other half-dead of smoke. I hoped that the rest of my group was faring better.

When I found the bookshop, I lost any pretense of impartial rescue.

“GAV!”

The top floor had caved in, the books and the furniture from the attic acting like easy kindling.

“VIO! DOAMNA VAUGHAN!”

Pages of our old grimoires scattered in the wind, Pict’s faded handwriting eaten up in smouldering bits.

_ “GAV!” _

_ “JO?” _

My heart skipped a beat; I jumped the remnants of the shop counter, forging further into the house.  “GAV! WHERE YE AT?”

Coughing answered me; I followed it to the junction of a hall, where a missing plaster panel revealed a crawl space under the broken stairs. The shop hadn’t ever had a basement, but it sure as hell seemed to now.

“Gav! Gav, ye down there!?”

“We are!”

My head whipped back, and I shouted for the crewmate who’d been on the street with me, hoping she was still there.  “AYE!”

“CAP’N!”

“GET YER ASS IN HERE, GOT PEOPLE TRAPPED!”

“AYE!”

 

* * *

 

The sea was calmer on the return trip, like a quiet mourner in the early morning.

Most of the survivors we’d found were sleeping now. Not that there were many; they’d either gone with the first wave of refugees, or already been lost.

Gav’s legs had shattered in the initial fall, and she’d broken a few other bones to boot. We’d gotten her set up with a healer, though the adrenaline had already worn off and the pain had gotten to her.

When she came to, we talked. She’d found some sort of safe room a couple months back; scraped her hand on a nail taking down a picture and the panel popped off. Hadn’t investigated any - couldn’t get down the ladder with the osteo - but drug Vio and their ol’ lady down when the attack hit.

Vio’d been sobbing, until she fell asleep in the cot with Gav. Their mother’d been unconscious, and we still weren’t sure if she’d be waking up yet.

I stood on the deck now, rolling a cigarette between my fingers as we approached the coast northwest of Remington. 

My head was still swimming, my hands still quivered like strung bows, and the air still ran thick like water. 

_ Everything. _

_ Everything’s gone. _

I watched smoke drift in the distance, and blew out my own cloud to match it.

_ Must be the camp. _

_ … That smoke’s too dark. _

I dropped my cigarette, knuckles straining as I gripped the railing. 

_ That’s too much smoke. _

_ Fire- _

_ DAD? _


	12. Pict

Year 135 5E (27 years old)

* * *

 

I hopped between stalactites, crevices, and strands of silk, sticking as close as I dared to my unknowing guides.

Falling from this high absolutely meant death, but I damn well wasn’t about to. My pack was loaded down with runes, and I hadn’t spent years climbing around like some kind of subterranean monkey for nothing.

I didn’t know where on the surface they’d bring me - or if I’d be able to touch things again when I got there - but whatever the situation, it would be better than this shit.

_ Going to find Jo, find Gav. And then a stiff drink, stiff dick. _

I suppressed the thought that the first two might not even remember me, and flung myself up to a higher ledge.

_ Maybe I’ll pop out in Ardougne. _

Another toss of myself.

_ Maybe that fucker will still be around. _

Two hops.

_ What was his name? Coral? Cyrus? _

New notch to slot my fingers.

_ I’ll steal his purse. _

 

* * *

 

I clawed my way free of the narrow crevice, fingers numb and arms shaking, tangled in discarded silk from the rock vent I’d been forced to contort myself through.

I watched the spiders scuttle off and out of sight. A sea of people pulsed nearby, rushing along a wide street as they went about whatever business they had, ignoring me as I lay in the gutter; musty, damp, dazzled by the lights and sounds and everything so familiar but far away and  _ free. _

_ Free. _

_ I’m out. _

_ I’m out, I’m out, I’m out I’m out I’m out - _

I pushed myself back to my knees, then to my feet, unsteady and sore but flushed with new adrenaline.

_ Home. Time for home. _

Night had settled in here, wherever here was, which was probably for the best on my eyes. The light sat diffused, comforting, leaking from apartment windows and the little stringed baubles that crisscrossed as far as the eye could see, weaving like fireflies along lengths of colored cloth. Soft music drifted from nearby, and dock bells rang somewhere far across the rows of homes.

_ Ocean town, or by a river? _

I couldn’t smell salt, or hear anything I remembered belonging to the sea. No birds, no dock workers calling to each other, no strong breeze or loud waves crashing.

_ Lumbridge? That’s some shit by a river, isn’t it? _

_ Fucking massive amount of people around. Festival? _

I took a moment to work up the nerve to get closer to the crowd, and tried to pat the arm of a passerby. My shoulders blissfully,  _ long-deservedly  _ relaxed when I actually succeeded in making contact.

“Scuzați-mă?”   _ Or, no, Lumbridge probably wouldn’t- _  “Excuse me?” 

They turned, and what I saw took too long to process; it occurred to my throat first, and with a shriek I stumbled away.

Bulbous, glazed-over eyes sunken in dead faces stared me down as I retreated, accidentally running into another and dragging more of the crowd’s attention. They closed up around me, murmuring in ripples that spread down the street.

“El!”

A tall figure cut through from the other side, elbowing limp forms aside until she was close enough to jerk me up by what was left of my jacket collar. Her voice was sharp, familiar, and she smelled like rotting flesh cured in smoke.

_ “Nnenna?” _

_ “Go home, El.” _

“Where-?”

She pressed something cold into my hand and threw me back to the ground, the metal sigils sewn to her sleeves clattering. She pointed harshly towards where the dock bells rang, and something about the way her arm frayed in motion finally struck me nauseous.

_ Dead. _

_ Really dead. _

_ Am I? _

_ “Du-te de-aici, El!” _

Every nerve screamed for me to run. 

I scrabbled back to my feet, shoving the token into my pocket as I locked eyes with my old mentor a final time, then did just that.

 

* * *

 

I woke up, blurry-eyed and dehydrated, on top of one of the buildings near the river. I tried to shoo off the first with a cigarette, and a few water runes solved the second. 

Images of Nnenna swam through my head, and I struggled to fend off the thought of Jo reaching the same fate.

_ She’s fine. She’ll keep being fine. _

A few stretches helped get the crust out of my eyes, and I scanned along the river for promising targets.

A mansion lay beyond the edges of the city, its island held between the banks by thick metal chains, and from here I could  _ just _ make out the silhouette of gates illuminated beyond. Even if I’d known how to swim, it looked too far to reach, and the ethereal green currents didn’t exactly look like water.

_ Steal a boat, or fuck the boatman? _

_ No contest. _

I hopped down to a lower roof, then to the side street below, and snuck my way to the river’s edge.

_ Assuming the boatman isn’t made up shit. _

Signs in countless languages warned me away; I ignored them and hopped the barrier, casually sliding up to the boat house.

A large, horned, waistcoated being -  _ definitely _ a demon, with no room for error this time - reclined in a rocking chair inside the doorless shack, sipping something from a mug and reading a tattered newspaper.

He didn’t look up, instead acknowledging me with a sigh through his nose slits.  “Go back and read the signs, please.”

“I need to get across.”

“Boss has a form for that somewhere. He tosses them all, though, so don’t bother.”

“Sounds like a fucking riot of a bastard.”

“You’d have met him on the way in.”

“Nope.”

He folded the newspaper with a second sigh, then removed his spectacles and looked me over.  

“... I see. You’re a live one. Snuck down and want to skip out of dealing with the consequences, is that it?”

_ Not dead, then. _

I tried to pose myself in a half-slide against the door frame.  “I’ll ride your dick if you let me.”

“Oh, I’ve never heard that one before.”

_ Selfish bastard. _  “The fuck would you want in exchange then?”

He rubbed his cheek, then jerked a thumb in the direction of the mansion.  “My pay’s cheap.”

“Yeah?”

“They squirrel away expensive décor.”

“So?”

“So, read the room. You got in here, right? You can get in there, if I ferry you down. Real quick.”

“That’s it? You want stolen shit from your boss?”

He flinched and glanced over his shoulder, then gestured for me to keep it down.  “All there is to it, just make it something worth my time. You can cut through the office in there once you’re done, too. It’s safer than the gates.”

I squinted.  “What’s to stop me from just leaving once you get me there?”

“Think of it like a convenience fee. On your honor.”  He stood with a grunt, and went for the lantern rod propped up against the wall.  “Also, I control the alarm bells.”

_ There it is. _  “Fair.”

He swept an arm towards the door.  “After you.”

 

* * *

 

The ferry boat moved swiftly, Alathazdrar at the rear with one hand on the rudder as I lay across the front, watching our distorted reflections speed by. 

“Al. Can I ask you something?”

“I do like conversation on these trips. Usually the passengers are too busy shivering themselves to second death.”

_ Comforting.   _ “You’re Byzroth, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“If I give you a description, could you tell me what kind of demon it was for?”

“I can do my best to, yes.”

My memories of the shadowed being were hazy, now, but I conveyed what all I could remember. The taut skin, the height, the eyes.

Something about the latter must have caught Al’s attention, because he cut me off.

“You didn’t encounter a demon.”

“Then the fuck was it?”

His expression darkened, and he shifted against the rudder.  “Nothing anyone should be trying to get themselves tangled up in.”

“Got a shorter name than that?”

“...”

“Not like you’ll ever have to deal with it.”

He grumbled to himself, low under his breath, and waved the topic off.

I filed the answer away for later.

_ Mahjarrat. _

 

* * *

 

He pulled the boat close to the edge of the estate, bumping the side against the rocks before he managed to get a rope around one. I didn’t wait for him to finish before hopping out, stealing over to the base of the wall.

Decorative mounts, flowering red vines, and notches in the stonework made the building a refreshingly easy climb, and I was soon working at prying loose a high window. They weren’t locked, from what I could see, but a fresh coat of paint left them crusted over.

One finally gave way enough for me to slip inside, where I could shove it entirely open and look down to Al. He waved at me with a large net, and I gestured for him to wait a moment.

_ Expensive. Probably small enough for him to hide, not easy to damage with water.  _

I eyed the paintings as I crept down the hall, and immediately ruled them out. Statues, suits of armor, bookshelves, and strange knick-knacks littered the place, heavy with purple plush and red candles, and twice I nearly tripped over thoroughly destroyed chew toys. 

Whether they belonged to the skeletal dog in some of the paintings or the jackal-headed man in others, I didn’t know, but I liked to think they were for the second.

Scouring through several different rooms eventually brought me to what I thought might be the opposite end of the floor, with a hallway mirrored from the first. A large door stood at the end, with a plaque that read “Harold’s Office” in an irritatingly grandiose font. It was locked, but the dog door flap in the bottom offered a way around my lack of a lockpick or key.

I noted it for later, and turned my attention to the shelf next to it. 

Book ends, while finely carved, probably weren’t something Al would be interested in. The vase, wrought with gold and depicting some type of battle, though, looked better suited for whatever employer-property fencing he supplemented his income with.

I snatched it up and retraced my path to the window, where I found Al pacing the length of his small boat and tapping his nails. He looked up when I hissed to him, and his eyes immediately fixed to the vase. With a wide grin, he held his net out over the water.

_ Wants me to fucking throw it? Shit better not be fragile. Fuck’s sake.  _

I took a breath, wound my arms back, and heaved.

It tumbled through the air in a clumsy arc and struck the river with a crash, missing the net entirely, but with a cheerful whistle Al scooped it up before it could sink too far. 

“That good?”

“It is indeed!”  he called back in a loud, bad whisper.  “Travel safely, little man!”

“You too!”

He nodded and set his prize to the floor, then untied the boat and kicked it away from the rocks.

With a final wave, he sped off.

 

* * *

 

The office past the dog door was absolutely massive. Excessive.

Staggeringly tall stained glass loomed behind me, casting an eerie glow across the imposing help desk. Sand from hourglasses littered the ground below, intermingled with cast-offs from the growing mounds of paperwork on either side. 

A dog - skeletal, about the size of some sort of mastiff or pitbull - lay curled up in a plush bed, a nearby food bowl identifying them as ‘Muncher’. 

_ Rak. Always been more of a cat person. _

I wasn’t sure if ‘Muncher’ was asleep, or if they were just doing a performative mimicry of it from life.

Not risking it, I slipped my fingers into my bag and tugged a grub free, crouching and placing it into the empty food bowl.

The dog’s tail shifted, then rattled in a wag.

_ Look at the jaws on you. No fucking wonder you’re called that. Hell. _

Their head shot up as I backed away, tail thumping harder, and I froze at the sound of footsteps.

The voice that came first was rough, like someone had taken a dog’s vocal cords and stretched them to the limits of their flexibility.  “Harold?”

A hollow, reverberating  “Hm?” answered.

“Didn’t you once have a vase on that shelf?”

“I did.”

“I’m glad you’ve gotten rid of it. I didn’t want to say, but it was absolutely garish.”

“I didn’t.”

“Oh.”

I didn’t stick around any longer, trotting down the stairs to the lower platform two at a time, focus fixed on the exit gateway.

The dog door rattled with the click of bone nails, and the last thing I heard was a disgusted  “Now just WHERE did you get that thing?” before I tumbled, shoulder first, onto the damp crossroads north of Draynor.


	13. Pict

The past few nights I had walked just off the roads, using the between hours to reintroduce my eyes to sunlight before spending the rest of the day sleeping somewhere covered. I finally reached Port Sarim during a morning, in possession of something like a sleep schedule.

_Lucky if none of these fuckers mistake me for a vyre, between the pasty ass and the voice and the rest of it. Last damn thing I need._

Draynor’s dock had been abandoned at some point, and this was the next closest place I knew where I could find a ship headed to Crandor. Not that I was going to pay for passage, or even _could_ unless they took stale grubs as payment, but I still needed to know where to hitch a ride.

“Hey.”  I tapped the shoulder of a tattooed woman well-dressed in blue, who seemed to be directing the early foot traffic.  “Know where I can get my ass out to Crandor?”

She turned and eyed me, nose wrinkling.  “The hell you want Crandor for? Got destroyed last year.”

My stomach dropped.

Nnenna’s haunted face pushed back into my mind, Jo and Gav’s flooding in in kind to fill the gap where certainty had been.

_No._

“That dragon they kept pent up like a mascot got out. Had enough of being pent up, I’d guess. Destroyed that refugee camp they made near Remington too, before vanishing off again. You been living under a rock?”

I was too busy struggling to take in air to form a reply.

_Will go back. I’ll find a way back through the crossroad shit, will find both of them, convince Al to bring them back with me this time, I’ll-_

“You alright there, mate? Face going green there. You need to sit down?”

I shook my head, biting back the bile that swirled in the back of my throat. She shuffled uncomfortably, looking to either side like she was hoping someone would come take her place, before leaning down like she was sharing some kind of secret.

“Y’know, if you _do_ need to get there that badly, this old guy Klarense sold a ship a few years back. One of those fancy Crandor ones, bet the new owner could get you there. She comes through sometimes for work, said she lives in Catherby I think? Bet she could haul you over. Josephina Ace- Acre- Something or other like that.”

 _Akerele._  “I need to get to Catherby.”

“Third ship down the way.”


	14. Jo

Year 135 5E (27 years old)

* * *

 

He sat propped up sideways on the couch, sharing in the cocoon of a blanket, guzzling a beer like it didn’t have a bottom. I’d tried one of his damned grubs, then immediately tossed the rest in the trash and grabbed him a muffin.

“Then ye toddle yer ass up so we’re both cryin’?”

The head of the bottle pulled away with a sucking sound.  “Yep.”  He made a gesture towards his ear. “So. How about, yknow…?”

I pushed my hair back, letting him see the scar. He winked.

“You two? Eh?”

I winked back, putting two fingers to my lips and pushing my tongue out between them.  “Damn right.”

He snorted, setting the bottle down on the floor.  “She here?”

“Nah, busy. Should be ‘round in a week ‘r so, will be able to get introduced. Can hit up the dock bar tandem-like?”

“Damn straight.”

“Pass.”

He coughed like he’d dislodged something, choking on laughter and bits of muffin that both found their way out of his nose.

“Mother _fucker.”_

“Mama mhm.”

_“JO.”_

“Like yer ass doesn’t go’n perk-up at the trace of the word _‘daddy.’”_

He scratched his beard, biting back a grin and feigning indignance.  “Like it’s had any damn chance to, been stuck with my fingers and all the vaguely fitting bullshit I picked up.”

_Least the vase got left alone, unless those details got dropped out convenient-like._

“Aye, said as much no less’n five times so far.”  I made a sweeping gesture to the door. “Bar’s open. Got some night hours left ‘fore sun kicks on up. Plenty of time t’ fix that, aye?”

He was already half-up and tossing on the rest of the replacement clothes I’d gotten him, dropping Nnenna’s token on the coffee table.  “Speaking to my damn soul, Jo.”

“Ass, more like.”

“Same shit.”

I stuck my tongue out and started to toss my boots on.

_Missed you, fucker._


End file.
